Borne in Blood

PART III Chapter 7

Summer was waning, but the day was quite warm this first week in September, and the air was heavy with the scents of the first harvest. From the open windows of the Chateau Ragoczy it was easy to see the field-hands at their work, and to hear the activity in the kitchen yard and around the barn. The bake-house was cooling after its early morning use, and firewood was being loaded into the bath-house in preparation for the evening's bathing.
Walking a bit unsteadily, Hero had descended from her room, handsomely dressed in an elegant walking-ensemble of a dark-tealgreen more suited to Vienna or Paris than Chateau Ragoczy. She wore a dashing hat that held the heavy veil that covered her face and throat. "I am so excited," she said to Ragoczy as she entered the smaller of the two withdrawing rooms. "I must thank you again, Comte. I never thought you would actually be able to arrange this for me. I still don't quite believe it's happening. I am most deeply obligated to you."
Her formality saddened him, but he knew he could do nothing to change her withdrawal from him, that attempting to restore their intimacy would now lead only to greater alienation. "It is my honor, Hero." He came across the room and kissed her gloved hands, retaining them in his own for as long as she was willing to permit it.
"You have always been generous, and kind, always so kind, and I am aware of it, and I thank you ..." She was becoming flustered at her own effusion.
"Hero, Hero," he said gently. "There is no need for you to thank me; if you must, a single merci will suffice."
But Hero had to finish. "I know you have reservations about this, about my taking the child in, but there is no reason you should be worried. I have had several months to think it out, and I am satisfied that neither Hedda nor I will suffer because of this." She stared directly at his cravat. "I promise you, I do not expect this child to be a substitute for Annamaria. I do know they are not the same. But Hedda and I should be able to find some comfort in each other." She slipped her hands out of his and looked toward the window. "What time did the messenger say the coach should arrive?"
"He estimated it would be here before noon; Gutesohnes was planning for a departure after Mass," Ragoczy replied. "You have two hours at least."
"I wonder if I should have gone to Eichenbrucke and accompanied her back here?" She started to pace, trying her best to limp as little as possible. "We could have had leagues and leagues together, and several evenings in good posting inns. She and I would be friends by now. Will she think the less of me for not going to get her?"
"I believe it is better that she travel with Oberin Josepha; Hedda knows her, and it will ease her fears, and the fears of the nuns. Think how it must seem to her, to be thrust into a new household about which she knows nothing, in a place she has never been. Such changes frighten grown men, and she is a nine-year-old girl. Hedda has already been deprived of her family twice, and she will not embrace a third one too quickly; give her the opportunity to bridge the gap with a familiar companion," Ragoczy said, not wanting to remind Hero that she was not yet ready to make such a long journey; the move to the newly restored castle at Obenzemmer would be difficult enough.
"The poor child must be terrified." Hero sat down suddenly. "That's what worries me: that she will be too frightened to-" She would not let herself go on.
Ragoczy considered his words before he spoke. "She would be most unusual if she had no fear, or lacked optimism for this new direction her life has taken. Since her parents died, she has had much to endure."
Hero swallowed to stop her tears. "I want to make her happy, if I can. She ought to be happy."
Ragoczy went to her side and lightly touched her shoulder. "I know you would like to spare her any more misery, and to provide her with everything she has missed, but it will take time. All changes in her life for the last three years have been for the worse. Do not expect her to be too jubilant, Hero; she is likely to be reserved: you are kind-hearted enough to respect that. She has been through so much-"
"Something I can understand," Hero interposed. "She and I have had so many losses. It will give us a bond."
"I hope you will find that it is a satisfactory one."
"As soon as we can set up at Obenzemmer, I think we should be able to make our lives together, on our terms." She looked up at Ragoczy through her veil. "Do you think Hyacinthie really killed her sister Rosalie?"
"I think Hyacinthie believes she did," said Ragoczy carefully.
"But did she?" Hero persisted.
"It does seem possible," he said with great regret, remembering Csimenae again, and Srau.
"Do you suppose Hedda knows?" Before he could answer she went on, "Surely no one would tell her such a dreadful thing."
"She most certainly knows, whether she has been deliberately told or not. Servants gossip, children reveal secrets, nuns whisper: she will have heard several versions by now, I should assume, and she will have chosen one of the versions to believe. Whichever version that may be, it will be the one she expects to hear from you." He felt her move back from him; he removed his hand. "She will likely ask you what you know."
"But how can I tell her that Hyacinthie claims she killed Rosalie? It would be too cruel."
"She will have heard worse by now, Hero; if you make light of her knowledge, you will find she will feel slighted." He touched her shoulder again. "If you tell her what you know, she will respect you, dreadful though your information is."
"I couldn't tell her anything so heinous," said Hero. "Hyacinthie's demeanor alone would be too painful to describe. It is all too painful for any child." She stared at her hands as if she could see through the gloves. "I hope she will not ask to see my face, or not until she is used to me."
He dropped down on his knee beside her, speaking earnestly, "Let me advise you not to dissemble. Any modification of the truth may be held against you. Children have a sense about prevarication, no matter how well-intentioned. The child will not trust you if you offer her any mendacity."
"How will she know?" Hero asked. "I could soften what I have learned-make it less dreadful. I wouldn't have to lie."
Ragoczy waited several seconds, then said, "I know very little about children, except that they are often quite absolute. The few I have known have taken a strict view of the adults around them. If you fail this child now, she may well think that you are like all the others she has known, and she will not trust you." He held out his hand to her, but she did not take it.
"I will find a way to make that up to her," said Hero in a burst of purpose. "She and I will have a lot of time to help her put such misfortunes behind her."
"I hope you will succeed," he said, rising.
"Do you think I can't?" she challenged.
"If I thought that, I would never have arranged for you to adopt Hedda," he said matter-of-factly.
Emboldened, Hero asked, "About that: why do you do it, Comte?"
"Help you adopt Hedda?"
"All of it." She hesitated, then plunged on. "Why did you try to fix my face? Why did you bother to search for me at Ravensberg? Your shoulder still pained you, but you didn't hesitate, or so I was told by Serilde. Why did you plead for mercy for Hyacinthie, after all she has done?"
The ticking of the grandmother clock seemed suddenly loud as he composed his answer. "If you had the wealth, and the time-especially the time-that I have, would you not do the same? Time is the operative notion here: had I died the True Death when I was executed, I would be nothing more than a very minor Bronze Age prince, hardened by battle, conquered by invaders, forgotten to history, no more brutal than my kith and kin, and no less so. Time has changed that."
"How could you call yourself brutal? You are the most cultured, educated, capable man I have ever met," she protested.
"That is what I meant by time. Nearly four thousand years of undead living has taught me to value life in all its brevity, and all that comes with life." He knew this was insufficient, so he added, "Vampires are often loathed, when we are believed in at all, and for some of us, this brings a terrible bitterness, corrosive to their undying lives and destroying all chance at retaining humanity." He looked away from her, down his long memories. "I have some experience of bitterness, centuries ago, and I know how it venomous it is." His smile was swift and sad. "Compassion is preferable to vitriol. Both can be painful, but compassion builds bridges and bitterness destroys them. Even the loneliness is preferable to rancor. Where there is deprecation and contempt, there can be no intimacy, and for me intimacy is the heart of vitality, and the substance of life; without it my life would be utterly desolate; I could survive, but as a tiger survives, or a jackal. So if I love you-and I do love you; I love you and I know you-then it is my privilege to do what I can to offer you any fulfillment I can, to ease your burdens and lessen your pain." It was more than he intended to say, and he realized he may well have said too much.
She inhaled to speak, then let the air out slowly, not quite sighing, but measuring her response. "Then, if you are willing to ease my burden, I will do the same for Hedda, and do all I can to ensure she has a decent life from now on." Behind her veil, her eyes were very bright.
"I have no doubt of that," he said, and sensed that she was near weeping. "Let me ring for Balduin and have some chocolate brought in for you."
As if recalled to herself, Hero said, "Oh, yes, please. If Uchtred wouldn't mind. I know he is planning a special dinner."
"It is mid-morning and his meats will be turning on the dinner spits in an hour. He can make chocolate for you while he supervises his new assistant. You will not impose upon him." He tugged on the bell-pull by the mantle, and waited until Balduin knocked on the door. "Madame would like a cup of chocolate. And I hope the little pastries will be ready for the child's arrival?"
"So Uchtred tells me," said Balduin. "I should mention there is a coach approaching from the gate-not one of yours."
Ragoczy was a bit nonplussed. "Do you know whose it is?"
"I will in five minutes," said Balduin.
"Then you had best warn Uchtred that there will be guests-bread, cheese, apples, and beer should suffice to offer them." Ragoczy glanced over at Hero. "Do you want to greet the visitors?"
She shook her head and touched her veil. "No."
"Then if you will excuse me? I will be back with you before Hedda's coach arrives." He hoped this would be the case; he opened the door.
"Go on," she said, waving him away.
Balduin was filled with activity, all but bouncing on his toes. "This is a most important day, isn't it, Comte?"
"It is," said Ragoczy. "Go off to the kitchen to inform Uchtred of Madame's order, and mine for my guest. Tell him some dispatch is needed, for the girl is expected before mid-day, and with any luck, the visitors will be gone by then. I will go out to greet them." He walked quickly to the front door and went out onto the broad step; a light breeze fingered his fashionably trimmed hair and plucked at his star-burst cravat, but no slight disorder in his clothing could lessen his air of urbane elegance, or so he hoped, having no reflection with which to reassure himself. As he stared down the drive, he thought, How inconvenient it is to have Rogier in Obenzemmer, supervising the installation of the staff there, but this could not be changed. He heard the rumble of the coach and the steady hoof-beats from the pair pulling it, and tried to guess who was coming.
The panel of the coach bore the device of the Magistrates of Yvoire, and Charget was driving; as the pair were drawn up in front of the entrance to the chateau, Ragoczy saw that Magistrate Lindenblatt was its sole passenger. "Comte," he called out as he opened the door and let down the steps.
"Magistrate," said Ragoczy, stepping down to shake his hand and to offer a sketched salute to Charget on the box. "Welcome, Magistrate. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"I have some news-good news," said Lindenblatt, his visage a mask of worry. "I trust it is good news."
"Thus your present delight?" Ragoczy asked, indicating the open door. "Well, whatever your errand, come in and take a little refreshment." As they entered the chateau, Ragoczy saw Dietbold hovering, and said, "The Magistrate and I will be in my study. Please bring a refreshment tray for him."
"Merci, grand merci," said Lindenblatt, a bit out of breath. "I have had a very busy morning, and it isn't over yet."
"What has happened?" Ragoczy asked as he ushered Lindenblatt into his study.
"It is a little ... a little difficult ..." He waited until the study door was closed, then said, "We have discovered who it is who has been aiding the highway robbers." As if this announcement had deprived him of his energy, he sat down abruptly.
"And have you ascertained that your information is accurate?"
"Lamentably, we have," said Lindenblatt. "The source is unimpeachable."
"That is a welcome development, after so many months of depredation; I am curious to learn why it should also be lamentable," said Ragoczy. "I know the region will be relieved to know their harvests and stores will stay their own through this year, and that travelers will not be set upon." His enthusiasm was expressed mildly, for he could see that Lindenblatt was still distressed.
"Yes, yes. Of course. But it will be ..." His words trailed off. He gathered his resolve and began again. "We have evidence and proof-very credible proof-that the man who has been a second leader to the robbers is well-reputed in the region, not the sort you would expect to be helping criminals: Augustus Kleinerhoff." His head dropped as if he had been struck a blow.
Ragcozy stood very still. "Kleinerhoff? The head-man of Sacre-Sang? Are you sure?" If this were true, Ragoczy wondered how he could have been so mistaken in the man.
"Sadly, yes I am." He put his sugar-loaf hat on his knee. "I will explicate how I come to know this in a moment."
"The second leader, you say?"
"Yes." There was a brief silence while Lindenblatt gathered his thoughts. "He has an assistant of a kind, as well."
"If your information and your proof is correct and trustworthy," Ragoczy appended. "Are you certain it is accurate?"
"Unfortunately, it is." Lindenblatt nodded, looking even more uncomfortable. "I must ask you to discuss this with no one, to say nothing until the court publishes its findings on the matter, which will be tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. As the case has bearing on you, and as I have need of access to one of your staff, I am going to take you into my confidence. Do I have your pledge of confidentiality?"
"You have my Word," said Ragoczy. "I am willing to remain silent for as long as required."
"Thank goodness you are willing." Lindenblatt took a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. "I am still much troubled by all we have learned."
"You will have a difficult time in the region if what you say is true. It is one thing to mete out justice to the robbers, but quite another to persecute local men." Ragoczy had a short, unpleasant recollection of the trouble at Padova, at Cuzco, and of Jui Ah at Mao-T'ou fortress.
"I am aware of that; I would be more elated if some other had been revealed as the miscreant." Lindenblatt steadied himself and added, "What is most distressing is that the leader of the band of robbers is Kleinerhoff's nephew, from Halle. He was a Captain of cavalry under Napoleon, and has suffered because of his loyalty. He gathered a group of former soldiers around him, and some men of dubious probity, and they became the heart of his band, with the aid of Kleinerhoff and his assistant." Now that he had revealed so much, he seemed about to collapse from exhaustion.
"As sad as all this is, why do you want to see someone on my staff?' Ragoczy said with unfailing courtesy.
"Because it seems one of your household has acted as a ... as a connection between the robbers and Herr Kleinerhoff." He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. "I regret to inform you of this, but the investigation has shown that this is true. I have seen the sworn testimony, and I have reviewed the evidence. It explains why some thought you were part of the outlaws." His cheeks grew ruddy, and he was about to continue his oblique apology when the knock on the door interrupted him.
"I have ordered refreshments for you," said Ragoczy. "I hope you will not refuse them."
"No, I won't; I am parched and famished," said the Magistrate. "I would like to think you will not hold my duty against me."
"Whom do you seek here?" Ragoczy asked as he went to open the door.
Hildegard brought a tray into the room and carried it to the occasional table next to Lindenblatt's chair. "Magistrate," he said as he set it down.
Lindenblatt nodded and said to Ragoczy. "You know, in my father's day, no servant would address any of us directly. They spoke only when spoken to, and would not look at their betters."
"This way is much more practical," said Ragoczy. "The change is for the good."
"I hope so," said Lindenblatt, and poured himself a large glass of beer from the stoneware pitcher Hildegard had brought.
"I'll ring for you when the Magistrate is through, thank you," said Ragoczy, dismissing Hildegard.
"Comte," said Hildegard, and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Ragoczy watched while Lindenblatt took a long drink of beer, then asked again, "Whom do you seek here?"
Lindenblatt set down the glass. "I regret to say that our information shows it is your second coachman."
"You mean Marcel Lustig? He has worked for me only two months."
"No, no, not Lustig. Ulf Hochvall." He spoke the name as if confessing to a great wrong.
"Hochvall?" Ragoczy looked shocked. "Are you sure?"
"I wish I were not." Lindenblatt took a second long draught of the beer and reached for a wedge of cheese.
"He has not been in my employ since the end of April." Ragoczy paused to consider how to go on. "I have helped him set up in a drayage business in Sacre-Sang; Kleinerhoff aided me in making the arrangements; being the head-man of Sacre-Sang, he was in a position to hurry things along." He gave a single, ironic laugh. "This is not what Hochvall wanted, but he was resigned to it: since his leg was broken, Hochvall has not been able to handle a coach-and-four. Both of us hoped his leg would mend completely, but since it did not, I have sought to provide him a living of some sort. He was disappointed not to be able to continue as a coachman."
"If that is the case, he has repaid your generosity most shabbily," said Lindenblatt, swallowing his cheese with the help of a sip of beer. "He has been passing information to Kleinerhoff for the last three years. He has occasionally sheltered the robbers in your coach-barn. It was he who sought to turn suspicion on you."
"That is ..." He left the rest unsaid.
"The mark of an unworthy man," said Lindenblatt. "I will have to order him charged; I had hoped to do so while I was here, but if he is in Sacre-Sang, then I must shortly go there." He took another wedge of cheese and bit into it, chewing vigorously.
"The villagers are bound to know you are coming. The harvesters will announce you as sure as fanfares." Ragoczy tapped the secretary-desk. "If they support Herr Kleinerhoff, then you may find it difficult to arrest anyone."
"Just this morning most of the band of robbers was captured by the Magistrates' guard. All of them have been offered the opportunity to receive a reduced sentence if each of them will give a sworn statement to the court in regard to all their activities. That is proceeding as we speak. I have seen what the guards seized, which includes two registers of loot and booty. I had no idea of how extensive their activities have been."
"And you are certain that Kleinerhoff and Hochvall are implicated?" Ragoczy asked sadly.
"I have proof in three forms, including several letters from Kleinerhoff that were seized during the arrests of the robbers, describing where and when the band could strike for best results. He mentions Hochvall in a dozen notes, describing how trustworthy he is, and approving his knowledge of roads and lanes in the region. Kleinerhoff's hand has been recognized by my clerk, who knows it very well." He finished his glass of beer. "I am dismayed to have to inform you of all this, but better that you hear it now, from me, than from someone else with incorrect information."
"True," said Ragoczy. "I am grateful to you for tending to something so distasteful in such a prompt manner." He lifted his head, hearing another coach approaching. He turned to Lindenblatt. 'If you will excuse me?"
"Another visitor?" Lindenblatt asked nothing more as he took his hat from his knee and replaced it on his head. "I will not be long here; there is much yet to do." He rose to his feet. "If you will do me the service of coming into Yvoire tomorrow for the first court procedure, I would very much appreciate it."
"Yes, of course," said Ragoczy. "At what hour?"
"At nine I will begin. If you would, bring with you all correspondence you have had with Herr Kleinerhoff, and any records you have of your dealings with Hochvall. If you arrive half-an-hour early, I will brief you on what is to come. Magistrate Fulminus will be handling the actual charging of the outlaws, but I am still primary administrator of the case." He looked back at the tray. "I wish I had had more time to enjoy your hospitality. But there is much to do."
Ragoczy held the door for him. "I will be in Yvoire at eight tomorrow morning, and will be at your disposal."
"Merci, Comte," said Lindenblatt and sighed. "Now that we are Swiss France again, we must speak in French. When we become Swiss again, we will probably revert to German, or possibly Italian."
Ragoczy expressed no opinion, but nodded seriously and indicated the front door where Balduin was waiting. "Until tomorrow, Magistrate. I thank you for doing me the courtesy of making this call."
Outside, the second coach was nearing the turn into the paved courtyard; grooms were coming from the stable to take it in hand.
"Preferable to a summons, isn't it?" Lindenblatt said, then started down the broad, shallow steps toward his coach.
"Balduin, if you will inform Madame von Scharffensee that-" Ragoczy began, only to hear footsteps behind him.
"Is this Hedda?" Hero breathed from just behind his shoulder. "Is that her coach?"
"I assume so; Gutesohnes is driving," said Ragoczy, stepping aside so that Hero could see the four Kladrubers come to a halt behind the Magistrates' coach.
"Oh. Oh, dear," said Hero as a sudden stab of panic went through her. "I hope I have done the right thing, that she and I will-What if this doesn't work out?"
"That is the gamble we all take whenever we extend ourselves," said Ragoczy with such kindness that Hero gasped. "What matters is that you are willing to try."
"You're right: I mustn't lose sight of that," she decided aloud. "Shall I go out to her?"
"You may want to wait until she is out of the coach, so you may take your cue from her." As Magistrate Lindenblatt's coach pulled forward to turn around, the second coach came up to the edge of the steps.
"We traveled quickly," Gutesohnes called from the driving-box. "The horses have earned their oats today. They kept up a steady trot for three leagues." He set the brake and prepared to get down.
Balduin stepped forward, opened the door and let down the steps, then moved aside to allow the passengers to get out while Gabriel, the new footman, got off the rear of the coach and unbuckled the boot-cover.
First out was Oberin Josepha; the Mother Superior was impressive in her dark-gray-and-white habit, although her starched headdress was a bit wilted. She bowed rather than curtsied. "Comte Franciscus, it is good to see you again," she said in German.
"And you, Oberin." He bowed slightly to her. "I trust you had a good journey?"
"Oh, yes," said Oberin Josepha. "Your coach is quite luxurious." She swung around, her habit shielding the descent of the second passenger. "Come along, child. We have reached the home of the Comte. You remember him, and Madame von Scharffensee."
A small figure in a dull-pink frock emerged from the coach, climbing down the steps backward, and taking refuge in the ample folds of the Oberin's habit, large, chary blue eyes peering around the nun.
"Oh, welcome, welcome, Hedda," said Hero. "Please come in. Both of you."
"She is a little shy," said Oberin Josepha. "Come, child. Make your curtsy. The lady is going to take care of you from now on. Show her how much you appreciate her care." She covered her annoyance with a suggestion of amusement. "This isn't a game, Hedda."
Hedda hung back.
"Until tomorrow," called out Magistrate Lindenblatt as his coach started down the drive, picking up speed.
Ragoczy held up his hand in farewell, thinking that he should probably decide which of his records to take with him in the morning. He held out his hand to Hero. "Let the nun bring her to you. It will be less upsetting that way."
"I want to hug her, but I suppose she will need time for that." Hero sighed once. "I don't care how long it takes: I want her to be glad to be with me."
"That is an impulse I understand well," he said and fell in beside her, offering the steadiness of his arm as she came down the steps.
"Hedda," said Hero. "I am here to welcome you."
The child took firm hold of the Oberin's skirts.
Gutesohnes alighted at last and slapped his duster, laughing at the clouds that arose from the canvas. "Take the team to the stable and walk them for twenty minutes, then turn them out in the big paddock," he ordered the grooms. "I will come to see to their grooming in an hour."
"When you have finished with the horses," Ragoczy said, raising his voice to be heard, "then come to my study. You and I have matters to discuss."
Gutesohnes ducked his head to show compliance. "After dinner, if you will permit."
"Certainly," said Ragoczy, glad of the reprieve, however brief. Before nightfall, he would have to send word to the stable to have a horse saddled for him at six in the morning., but that could wait; now he had a much more pleasant task-to walk out toward the carriage with Hero to greet the diffident child in the drab frock and simple straw bonnet, who stood at the side of the travel-rumpled Mother Superior, and do all that he could to make both of them feel welcome at Chateau Ragoczy.
Text of a letter from Madelaine de Montalia in Athens to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Chateau Ragoczy, near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Swiss France; carried by commercial messenger and delivered thirty-two days after it was written.
To Saint-Germain Ragoczy, my favorite Comte, the greetings of your Madelaine on this, the 19thday of November, 1818,
My dearest Comte,
I discover I must thank you yet again. I have today received confirmation that I will be able to sail on the Evening Star from Athens to Alexandria as soon as the winter storms have passed. I have sent word ahead to the Imperial Hotel, reserving the suites you mentioned, and providing the copy of your assurances for the manager. I will carry your authorization to draw on your accounts there, although I hope I will not need to encroach on your generosity. As deeply as I long to travel upriver on the Nile, I will be content to remain in Alexandria until appropriate arrangements may be made. Simply being in Alexandria will bring me many steps closer to the Egyptian monuments I seek. I know I would not be going there had you not intervened.
For that reason, I ask you to permit me to find an expedition bound up the Nile on my own. If I linger in Alexandria for too many years, I may change my mind and appeal to you to aid me in my search, but for the time being, I think it behooves me to do all that I may to find an expedition planning to do the sort of work I am interested in undertaking. I am learning to be patient, so I do not insist on an immediate opportunity, but I would rather set out sooner than later. I have money enough to purchase my passage and then some, which should suffice to persuade any antiquarian of my usefulness.
Here in Athens there is much excitement over the success of the Serbian Obrenovics leading the recent uprising against the Ottoman Turks, as well as his supplanting of the Karageorgevics. While many applaud Milos Obrenovic's audacity, others are outraged at his murder of Kara George. The feud developing between the families promises to spread out through the Balkans, and may lessen what remains of the Turkish hold on the region. Everyone in Athens has an opinion on the matter and will discuss it at the slightest opportunity. There are many here in Athens who believe the Ottoman Empire must collapse, and that the sooner that happens, the better it will be for everyone, including the Turks. While I do not agree completely, I am fairly certain that the Ottoman Empire cannot continue on as it has been for much longer. If the Serbs can separate themselves and their territory from the Ottomans, so can many of their client countries, including Greece.
No, I have no wish to become part of any insurgency; escaping the Terror was enough to convince me that revolutions are as likely to destroy the supporters as the opposition. I would much prefer to be allowed to do my work in peace. Yet I listen and I know what I am seeing: this reminds me of Paris before the Bastille was stormed and those six unfortunates were rescued. I can feel it in the air, which is one of the reasons I am glad to be leaving this place in three months or so. I will be traveling with Missus Neva Colchester, who is a very respectable widow of thirty-eight summers, going to Egypt to be a governess to the children of Sir Beresford Rollo, the diplomat. If my reputation is to be protected, I am sure she is more capable of preserving it than almost anyone I have met. I understand her husband was an officer in the British Army, killed in the Peninuslar Campaigns against Napoleon. She has said he left her with a small legacy and a house north of London which she cannot afford to occupy alone, and no one in her family who wishes to share it with her. So rather than sink into genteel poverty, she has decided to put her education to good use. Her work in Egypt is supposed to last for five years with the possibility of extension if she proves satisfactory.
I tell you this so you will not think I have lost all regard for the good opinion of others. I have not and I will not flout customs out of vexation or botheration. But I find I am chafing at the limitations that are so much imposed in this part of the world. I have always assumed I could find a way to accommodate expectations, but in this part of the world, I will not go about swathed in a kind of tent, looking out at the world through a small screen in front of my eyes. As shocking as many of the Greeks and Turks think it, I will continue as I have done from my first journey to Asia Minor: I will dress and conduct myself as a European scholar. And I will make a point of going to church, to show I respect religion. It is fortunate that the tales of vampires being unable to tolerate religious places is untrue, or I would find my sojourn here much more difficult.
Saint-Germain, I do miss you. I miss you as I miss my heartbeat or the hunger for food. Every day I think of you, and I wish we could spend more time together. I comprehend your reservations about such an attempt, and in the rational part of my mind, I share those reservations. But when it is late and the moon is low in the western sky, I cannot help but regret that it must be so. For no matter whom I choose to love, nothing will ever supplant my love for you: I will always be reminded of you, of your gentleness as passionate as any work of van Beethoven or von Weber. All that I am I am because of you. Nothing will ever change that, nor would I want it changed. From now until the True Death, you will be first in my heart, as dear to me as the life you have given me, and my soul.
Eternally,
Madelaine